Before The Dark
by TallulahRay
Summary: Alternate Universe. Mohinder Suresh visits a young watchmaker to prevent the seeds of evil being planted but is that what he really wants? Here be Mylar, folks.
1. Chapter 1

_My first ever fanfiction, written as a dare. It currently abides somewhere on Livejournal, but I felt like setting up a little home here. This part is more of a prequel. Not my best work- but it gets my foot in the door, at least._

_--------------------------------------------- _

Ever since he'd been a child, Gabriel Gray had gone to bed at 10.30 pm and risen at 6.45 am. This was non-negotiable. Time and the very notion of order and punctuality hadn't merely been encouraged by his parents- it was something with which he had been born. Routine comforted him just as it had done in the turbulent days of his youth and even as he resented it, he clung to it fiercely. Every morning he would shower, shave, dress, eat breakfast and flip the sign on Gray & Sons front door to "Open". The official opening time was 8am, but he was always ready for business by 7.30am. He'd be at his desk all day, tinkering with the one watch that he'd never been able to fix

( _Sylar, damn Sylar, whoever the hell you were, what kind of maniac were you to have made something as complicated as THIS?_)

and he'd close up at 7pm. More aimless tinkering, supper, then bed.

Punctuality. Numbers. Clockwork. It was his life, and he had known little else.

As a very young child he'd been more normal than he would ever care to remember. He had wanted to be an astronaut, then a doctor, then a vet, then a doctor again, until his father had taken him to one side- a vague, puzzling, short-sighted boy of 12 years.

"I have to live on, son," he'd rumbled mysteriously. "You're going to have your _Very Own Store_, soon. Won't that be exciting?".

Ever since then the mantra was repeated faithfully every Friday evening (like clockwork, perhaps), usually with the liquor on his father's breath making him light-headed but always with those three words verbally italicized, as though in neon lights. His father had never laid a finger on him but, as any child of a beaten mother will tell you, the injury is inherited in other, more subtle ways. Virginia Gray had steadily disconnected herself from the reality of her son, flinching at his most innocent of gestures, collecting meaningless heirlooms as if her life depended on it. She spent more time at the church of Our Lady and St. Anne's than she did at home- not that Gabriel ever blamed her. She cried often, and didn't always hide her emotions from her special boy.

Little Gabriel would sometimes look at his parents with dark, critical eyes and be reminded of the harassed customers who would storm into their (his) store, waving malfunctioning timepieces under his nose. "It's a piece of cheap junk" they would rant, as though he had somehow been personally responsible for the shoddy craftsmanship. "You're just a boy, I doubt you'll be able to do anything for it. It's _broken_."

Robert and Virginia Gray. _Broken_.

It was sad, he supposed. He had loved his parents very much, and he supposed they had loved him back. His mother still told him so every other day, even if her eyes were a million miles away from him as she did so (his father had died at the age of 50, his liver finally giving up the ghost after years of alcohol abuse- Gabriel was less sad for himself than he was relieved for is mother). It was just as well that they _had_ loved him- his life, insular as it was, hadn't allowed for friends. There were bullies, of course- after all, what child nowadays had the fortune to be entirely overlooked? He'd come home on many an occasion with a bloodstained handkerchief clutched to his nose and more than the usual amount of adolescent scrapes on his elbows and knees. His glasses had rarely survived longer than a year. Funny how his mother had never said anything.

Despite all of this he had coped well but even now he smiled rarely, and when he did there was a wistful sadness in his eyes, the sadness of a man who knows he is missing some...thing. There were unhappier people in the world, but Gabriel had never known many people to compare himself with. So here he was, alone, in his _Very Own Store_, living a quiet and inconsequential life- him and his endless array of clocks and watches. It was like living inside a ticking bomb, set to explode at any minute.

There was a muted jingle as the door opened and two men walked in, silent. Gabriel allowed himself a silent chuckle- "walked" wasn't the correct term, really. "Stumbled" would have been more appropriate. One man was really more of a boy- a tiny Oriental fellow with a perpetually bemused and somewhat fearful expression. He looked all around him with wide terrified eyes, as though ready to flee at the first sign of trouble (trouble? what trouble was there to be had in this place?). There was something strapped to his back, something Gabriel naively assumed was some kind of sports equipment. The other was South Asian- Indian, possibly- and was a little more self-assured. He had every right to be- there was a warm if clumsy charisma in the way he placed an almost fatherly hand on his companion's shoulder. With his jet black curls and rich brown complexion, he was ridiculously handsome. Gabriel felt a twinge of emotion in the pit of his stomach which he put down to jealousy- he'd never thought of himself as handsome, and as a result tended to resent anyone of physical beauty. Ever the helpful shopkeeper he shed this unwanted feeling and stood up to meet his new customers. "Can I help you?" he spoke softly.

He could never have imagined the reaction those words would invoke.


	2. Chapter 2

"Can I help you?"

Hiro Nakamura let out a shrill scream as he heard the voice of the man who had haunted the life of he and his friends for so long. All the bravery he had gained over the months gone by, all of the training his father had given him...shattered as a serial killer asked him a question delivered by countless retail workers around the world. It did not help to remember that the last time he'd seen the man dressed in such a manner he'd just killed his own mother with a pair of scissors. He had faced him in battle twice now, but to see him in such innocuous surroundings was more than the little man could bear.

Mohinder Suresh steadied Hiro with another hand to his shoulder but it was all he could do to keep from turning on his heels and running, running, running until his muscles screamed for respite. It was okay for Hiro- he had the sword. He had his power. He had not been so...was intimate the right word for any sort of interaction with Sylar? He thought not. Mohinder had nothing but a mind full of memories, of guilty emotions, and the feeling of uncleanliness one feels when falling for a killer. Bennett could not have picked a less worthy companion for Hiro, he thought bitterly.

"I'm sorry," the man said, scraping his chair as he rose from behind the desk. Mohinder choked back a gasp- he'd forgotten how tall he'd been, and even now he seemed to go on for ever. "I didn't mean to startle you. I'll let you have some time to..." His eyes grew suddenly sharp behind his thick glasses as he gaped at Hiro, who had prepared himself for any imminent battle. "Is that...a samurai sword?"

Hiro looked at the weapon shaking in his hands- a weapon that had once borne the blood of the man before him. "Is Kensei Sword," he replied indignantly in a strong Japanese accent, making sure to step back a few paces. "Very dangerous. I am very good with it. Watch out!"

Mohinder looked from Hiro to the man he had been told to not think of as Sylar, not just yet. Whoever he was now, he looked like he was one second from calling the authorities so he tried to think on his feet. Forget Zane, he told himself. Forget New York, forget your father, forget it all. It may never happen now- not if we do our job correctly- so you'd better start NOW, Mohinder. "I'm SO sorry, Sir," he said, with just the right amount of regret in his voice. "We are both tourists in this city- my friend is a little excitable. He's heard about the criminal element in New York...I think he's got himself rather worked up over nothing." He laughed then, and was grateful for the fact that Dale Smither was still wrenching away at cars in Montana with her skull intact- he could hear his own heart thudding deep inside his chest.

God only knew what Sylar would have made of that.

-------------------------------------

Gabriel stood before the two men, completely confused by their behaviour. Strange things generally didn't happen at Gray & Sons- he had no past reference to consult when considering what one must do when confronted with a 5'5" Japanese man wielding a samurai sword. Should he call the police? He decided no- he hadn't experienced this level of excitement in ages, and likely never would again. "Tourists, huh?" he said conversationally. "I guess you've got yourselves a little lost- Queens isn't the best place to be, whether or not you're here on vacation."

The smile that spread across the Indian man's face was enough to make Gabriel feel unsteady on his feet. He had never in his life been the focus of such an intense (or, indeed, beautiful) display of pleasure- he couldn't possibly know that the source of the smile was pure, concentrated relief. "We've certainly come a long way from home," he said. "You've been the friendliest face we've seen all day!" His companion, too, seemed to have relaxed considerably- the grip on his sword was less tense, and he held it with one hand instead of two.

Gabriel blinked rapidly and blushed, his default reaction to a compliment. Muttering a friendly dismissal, he turned away to allow the two men to look around the shop. He didn't particularly care if they bought anything or not. The flash of entertainment he'd received since they'd walked in was adequate payment. They'd go back to their vacation and he'd go back to his life. It was a fair trade.

"Gabriel Gray."

He froze to the spot, the hair on his neck beginning to stand to attention. It had been the handsome Indian (he assumed he was Indian- he hadn't thought to ask after his true nationality, how rude and foolish of him) who had spoken. His heart seemed to pause for a split second and then drunkenly gallop on ahead of him. Turning around slowly he found the man looking him directly in the eye. Do I know you? he wanted to ask, but he knew it wasn't true. Gabriel Gray didn't know men beautiful enough to freeze him in his tracks- or if he did, he'd always been too lost in melancholy to notice it. "Where did you find out my first name?" he asked calmly. "Nobody knows my first name- except for my mother..." He paused as he saw the Japanese man shudder a little, and decided he could wait no longer. "Okay, okay. Fun is fun, but I'm a very busy man and whichever one of the neighbourhood kids put you up to this- well, it's understandable for them, but you two should be ashamed, tourists or not."

"Gabriel, it's no joke," the Indian man said, and placed a hand on his arm. Funny how that one piece of physical contact could make his flesh both freeze and flush at the same time. "We are here for you. We can help you. There's only so much we've been told," he added, glancing at his sword-bearing companion, "but if what we've been told is accurate, you've been waiting for people like us to enter your life. People who will help you escape the prison you've made for yourself." He visibly steeled himself for what he was about to say- one almond shaped eye flickered involuntarily. "Gabriel- we have reason to believe that you're special."

There was silence- for Gabriel, anyway, so used to the ticking of his clocks and watches as to regard the sound as non-existent. The Indian man used the opportunity to extend his right hand in friendship. "This must be somewhat out of the blue for you, so I do apologize. My name is Dr Mohinder Suresh." Gabriel grasped for the dark-skinned hand perhaps a little too eagerly so shook it once before letting go- he was not good in situations like this, and realized he suddenly wanted for these two men to be gone. Only his curiosity was keeping him from disappearing into his flat upstairs without another word. "And this is my friend, Hiro Nakamura- I'm sorry, he's a little shy," he added, on seeing that the Japanese man wasn't going to be offering his hand to anyone.

"Pleased, I'm sure," Gabriel said. "Now, I'm sorry, but you need to explain yourselves before I start to get REALLY suspicious."

Hiro glanced tentatively at Mohinder, who shrugged. "Where to start?"

------------------------------------------------

There were only so many ways to tell a man that his future self was destined to be a serial killer. For that reason, Mohinder had decided long ago to leave that part out. This man- this Gabriel Gray, this person apparently caught in an eternal Fifties timewarp- didn't have to find that out, not yet. He had assumed it would be easy enough to convince him of his own power, the existence of the power of others. After all, hadn't his father been able to convince him easier than he'd convinced anyone else? Mohinder couldn't have possibly known that one day, 6 months into the future, Gabriel had argued vehemently with his mother about the watch shop. It was a regular argument, and possibly the only subject that he'd allow himself to get worked up about - his mother was such a timid mouse of a woman and he hated to give her undue stress, but this was HIS shop, no matter how much he loathed it. As a result, Chandra Suresh had had the (mis)fortune of encountering a Gabriel only too ready to believe he was special enough to be whisked away for tests, for experiments, for ANYTHING. The Gabriel that Mohinder and Hiro had found was not quite so ready to listen. "Soooooo...let me get this right. There are people out there with... superpowers?"

Mohinder clenched his teeth, recognizing disbelief when he heard it. "I know it's difficult to grasp, but surely you must have recognised your own ability by now."

"But I have no ability. You say my talent is seeing how things work. It's what I DO. I make watches. I fix watches. And clocks, on a good day. That is all- it's hardly going to make headlines." He chuckled sourly. "Not like Hiro here- stopping time is going to get all of the attention, no doubt."

"Please, Gabriel, you have to give me the chance..."

"I'm sorry, Dr Suresh," he said abruptly, standing up. "I really think that you have to go now. I'm extremely busy and I have a shop to run."

Hiro looked around the large room which served as Gabriel's livelihood, a movement that would have appeared sarcastic if anyone else had done it. "There are...no customers."

Something tugged at Gabriel's heart then, but he shook it away and instead began to physically shoo the two men outside. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I don't want to waste your time. There must be a lot in this city for you to see. Go and see the Empire State Building. Tourists like the Empire State Building." He locked eyes with Mohinder for a split second and felt that tug on his heart again, along with something else. He was too inexperienced to recognize it as that elusive quality the more romantic of people referred to as a "spark".

Mohinder held his gaze and leaned forward, tilting his head to one side. Jet black curls tickled Gabriel's smooth right cheek and he gasped as this man, the only man in years who had spoken to HIM, and not the watchmaker, whispered in his ear. There was a sensation like warm honey flowing from there, via his neck, down his shoulder and landing squarely in his groin. "You will listen to me soon enough. And we will help you."

They left Gray & Sons voluntarily. Gabriel stood at the door for half an hour with his back resting against the door, waiting for his heart to slow down. He was unaware that his hand had risen to his face to trace the spot Mohinder's curls had brushed. Sighing, he returned to his desk. It was funny how interruptions like this never truly disturbed his work; it seemed he'd always known how to fix things.

He picked up the Sylar watch again, too lost in his task to notice how his blood had suddenly run cold.

-----------------------------------------------

Mohinder had booked into a hostel a couple of blocks away. It was a bit of a fleapit, but nothing he wasn't used to. Hiro had fretted a few times at Mohinder's decision to stay behind, imploring him to let him take them to a more suitable point in the future. He'd refused, already deciding upon the tactics he'd use to get closer to Gabriel. It was underhand, it was dirty, but he had a feeling it would work.

So he stood outside the watch shop, day after day, gazing through the window as though it was filled with widescreen televisions and not grandfather clocks. He followed Gabriel as he shopped for groceries- caught the same subway trains, crossed the same roads, visited the same pawn shops. He had a habit of buying "unrepairable" items as junk and fixing them there on the sidewalk- whenever he did this Mohinder would gaze on in quiet awe as other onlookers scoffed at this kooky guy with the vintage hairstyle. He became intimate with Gabriel's little quirks and smiled whenever he caught sight of them- how he checked that the shop door was locked five times before he disappeared upstairs, how he hunched over to minimize his formidable height. Days went by, and then weeks. The future was starting to catch up with them both, and Mohinder realized he was forgetting that this man would become Sylar. A murderer? It surely couldn't be. He found himself feeling sorry for him and his cruelly empty life. No friends, no relationship, no hobbies other than his repairs. It was little wonder he'd jumped at Chandra's offer of a new life, and even more unsurprising that he'd slipped into Sylar's persona so willingly. He'd clearly had nothing to lose.

-------------------------------------

It was a humid June afternoon when Gabriel snapped. Despite his thick glasses he'd always had a keen eye, and had noticed Mohinder again the day after he'd first visited his shop. Ever since then he'd caught glimpses of the man everywhere he went- a flash of a dark eye here, the slightest glimpse of a curled head there. He'd tried to throw him off the track a little at first and had changed his route a couple of times, but he'd soon lost patience with that. Besides, it was pleasant to watch Mohinder as he carried about his mysterious task, and he supposed he was developing an embarrassing little crush on the man about whom he knew nothing more than a name. (The mere thought of this mortified him- Gabriel's mother knew virtually everything about her son, but this was one thing she would have never suspected. Not that it mattered- she'd never expected grandchildren anyway.) This particular morning, however, had been a bad one- there'd been another fraught phone call with Virginia Gray that had ended in him slamming the phone down, and business had been bad for some time now. Mohinder's beauty was such that it intimidated him, shaking the invisible wall he'd thrown up around himself since his youth. He was intriguing, but most of the time he was just terrifying. When he caught him "using" the payphone outside the local supermarket there was some invisible thread within him, already under strain, that frayed away to nothing.

He turned to Mohinder and threw two armfuls of bagged groceries to the sidewalk, causing several other pedestrians to bolt in the opposite direction. A glass jar of something or other smashed on the tarmac; a carton of milk burst and splashed the cuffs of his dark blue slacks. "FINE!" he bellowed, his normally mild voice suddenly shattering the muggy afternoon and causing even Mohinder's pulse to quicken with an emotion that wasn't quite fear but was close enough. "Fine, I'll do whatever you want me to do, I'll listen to whatever you have to say, but for the love of GOD, will you stop following me wherever I go?"

Mohinder smiled wryly and approached him in an attempt to salvage what was left of Gabriel's shopping. "You'd find it hard to believe now, but hearing what I have to say may not be all that much of a blessing."


	3. Chapter 3

Mohinder and Gabriel eventually gave up on the mangled groceries and returned to Gray & Sons. Gabriel mumbled awkward apologies the entire way there, as though he had committed murder instead of destroying 30 dollars of shopping. It was the hottest day of the year so far and he was an amusing sight, clad in a thick brown shirt and uncomfortable-looking slacks. He clutched his shabby blue cardigan closed over his chest as though it was the middle of winter. Mohinder, ever the observant scientist, noted beats of sweat at his temples without much surprise- almost three months of strict observation had been enough to tell him that this man wasn't a fan of being in public view. God only knew what such a violent display of emotion had done to him. "Listen, Gabriel," he said, placing a hand on the crook of his elbow, prepared for how he shrank from him. "They were just groceries. I must have been quite an imposition on you these past few weeks- I insist on paying for anything you need to buy now."

"No, Mohinder, it's not that," Gabriel said, stopping just outside the door of his shop. "It's just..."

"Just what?" Mohinder raised an eyebrow.

The young man visibly gathered his thoughts, closing his eyes and chewing on his bottom lip for a few seconds. Mohinder felt a keen stab of lust course through him just then, lust accentuated by the relentless heat of the late afternoon.Sylar had looked like that was the next thought to strike him. This wasn't unusual- he thought of that man often these days. This man, he corrected himself, this man, and you can forget Sylar anyway- it's your job to make sure he's never even BORN. "It's just that...well, people don't stalk other people for three months without there being a reason, do they?" Gabriel fumbled with the keys for what seemed like a very long time. "I mean, no matter what you say, I KNOW I'm nothing special. I can promise you. I'm not. So, I figured a while ago that you and your friend Hiro might just be telling me the truth. About everything."

Mohinder beamed up at him, unable to believe his ears. His plan, ill-conceived as it was, had actually worked. "We are!" he enthused, eager to discuss what was to happen next (which is what, exactly, Dr Suresh? he thought with dry amusement.) "I swear to God, we are."

"Yes." There was enthusiastic but sincere nodding. "I believe you. And God help me, I believe you about the time-travelling, too."

"Why...yes, Gabriel. It's all true."

Gabriel finally won his battle with the front door and entered the suddenly oppressive shop, the heat accentuated by the wide glass windows that looked out onto the quiet street outside. "Like I've told you already, I am not special. I never have been." Once they were both inside he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial near-whisper, as though the many clocks were some kind of critical audience, mute save for the ticking. "So I figured that you are not here for the man I am, but the man I become."

Mohinder caught his breath, suddenly horrified. What do I do now? he thought wildly. He couldn't have known, he couldn't possibly have known...unless... He realised he was trying look for some form of escape, some form of weapon, keeping an eye on Gabriel's left index finger all the while.

Gabriel sighed. "And THAT reaction is enough to tell me that I'm not about to become famous for any humanitarian acts in the future. Am I far off the mark?"

"I...we need to talk properly about this. It isn't the sort of thing you say to a person without sitting down first." Mohinder wryly congratulated himself for the understatement of the year.

Gabriel laughed softly and headed into what served as his office- a partition of the shop floor separated from the public by a simple piece of wood. "I want to show you what I did this morning," he said, taking an object from the desk with the sort of care usually saved for undetonated land mines. He held it out to Mohinder- it was a simple enough watch, predominantly black- unremarkable save for the five letter word that proclaimed its maker.

"Sylar," he said softly, almost reverently. "We can't...me and my father, I mean...we couldn't find any record of a watchmaking company that goes by this name. The casing is standard, but the parts..." He trailed off mid sentence, clearly well aware of his potential to bore the mind out of anyone lacking an interest in watches. "All I know is that I've been working on this thing since I was 20 years old. Resentment of my life, of my mother, of the person that I am...it's all been caught up in this stupid pile of metal and glass. When I wanted to run away from it all, when I wanted to sell the shop and...oh, I don't know, see the world or something...I'd mess around with this thing...and all the time it wouldn't work, it WOULDN'T work..."

He was shaking now, apparently close to tears. Mohinder hadn't seen him cry since what seemed like a century ago

(-give me that DAMNED LIST-)

and suddenly realised he didn't want to see him start now. He placed a cautious arm around his shoulders and rested his cheek on his trembling arm. "Go on," he said, not liking how his own voice sounded. It was a purr, just short of a growl...

(-so I can sink my teeth in )

...somehow predatory.

Gabriel looked at him for a moment with wide, confused eyes before carrying on. "This morning, Mohinder...I fixed the thing. It all came together so simply, as if the answer had been there all the time but I'd only just seen it. It's working now. Perfectly. It works more perfectly than anything that's passed through those doors. And..." He placed a large hand over his mouth and inhaled heavily- Mohinder could barely hear what came next. "And now I have nothing. Nothing but a damn piece of junk to strap on my wrist and tell me when it's time to go and buy dinner for one."

They were both silent for a minute. Gabriel managed to get his hitching breaths under control- it was something he'd gotten quite good at over the years. He felt stupid for showing Mohinder how much of a sap he really was. It was something his mother positively encouraged- she did so love her sensitive little boy. Right now he could have done without it. All of a sudden, the last thing he wanted was for Mohinder to go thinking that he was a wimp, a wuss, a mamma's boy, all those other names that had been yelled after him as he ran home from school. Then why, Gabriel...why aren't you stopping him from holding you like this? Not about to dignify such an obvious question with an answer, he shyly bowed his head. "Thank you," he said.

"For what?" Mohinder replied.

"For being here. I mean, for sticking around this whole time. You've been more of a friend to me than anyone, period. You must have important business to attend to...back wherever you came from."

"Gabriel, I..." Mohinder began, and then trailed off into silence. He wanted to tell him thathe should be the one thanking Gabriel- how empty his life in the future had been, how his role among the others had been as some sort of acolyte, an official hero worshipper. His job, if he'd truly had one until now, was to look on in awe as his friends stopped time, flew, came back from the dead. Oh, and to examine DNA strand after DNA strand after DNA strand...how many years in university, learning and lecturing, were needed to say hey, I get it, you people are incredible, now leave me to the feeble world of human genetics- go walk through a wall or something? Nobody ever really needed him- he was designed to blend into the background, a substitute for something more important. Hell, he'd been born into this role. Only one of these "special" people had truly needed him- he got the feeling he still needed him now, and that maybe the feeling was still mutual. Peter would have rabbited on about destiny, no doubt. Mohinder, however, had no problem believing in how different lives could have a kind of symmetry. A fleeting memory crossed his mind

(I'm not just saying that because you're Indian)

and he smiled a little. "Gabriel, you are an incredible person," he said softly, turning him round so they were standing face to face- or rather, face to chin. As ever, Gabriel's default move was to refute the compliment, and he began to shake his head vehemently. Mohinder's expression grew suddenly determined and he reached out with both hands to gently hold his face.

Gabriel's breath caught in his throat and he gulped down a coughing fit before it could begin. "What are you doing?" he whispered hoarsely.

Mohinder smiled a thin, inscrutable smile. "I think you know what I'm doing."

"I...I don't..." But it was true. Despite his thundering inexperience with men and women alike, on some odd level he knew exactly what was about to happen. It terrified him and he wanted someone, something to interrupt them, so he wouldn't have the shame of doing it wrong. The heat of Mohinder's palms seemed to sear into his cheeks, and he had no way to avoid his gaze without closing his eyes altogether. But God, the face he looked into now was too beautiful to block out- it would be an outrage to even try when he could barely even string a proper sentence together. "I mean...I'm not...I don't know...I've never..."

He needn't have worried. Mohinder wasn't foolish enough to think that Gabriel would have the slightest clue of how to kiss someone, so he gently brought him down to his own height, looping his arms around his waist. When their lips were close enough for their breath to collide, it was he who made the first move, careful yet confident. He pressed his lips gently against Gabriel's and allowed himself a silent giggle at how the man immediately seemed to melt within his arms upon contact. Waiting for a couple of seconds, he realised that they would probably stand in this position all day if he didn't encourage some form of participation. "Like this," he whispered, tilting his own head to the right and moving in again, massaging Gabriel's mouth until, thank goodness, he felt the kiss being returned.

Gabriel had never known such intimacy in all of his life. He'd never really considered what he'd been missing out on as he'd grown up- he'd see couples on the street and wonder how they could bear to be so close to one another. Clutching this man to his body, it had all became clear. His lips were soft, and occasionally his tongue would dart into his mouth where it tussled with his own before leaving again, leaving him wanting more and more and more. Just as he was about to lose himself entirely, to just hold Mohinder until they melted into one and there'd never have to be anything after this kiss, he realised that they were both lowering themselves to the ground. What in the dear HELL? he thought wildly. "No, Mohinder," he breathed, glancing towards the shop window in horror. "People will see!"Also, in case you haven't noticed, I HAVEN"T A DAMN CLUE WHAT TO DO DOWN HERE!

"Does it matter?" Mohinder replied, as if in answer to both the spoken and silent question. His fingers were deep in the flesh of Gabriel's upper arms, deep enough to bruise. He wasn't sure if his power to instinctively understand how things worked extended to this simple act- all he knew was that his own clumsy first kiss, with a girl in his anatomy class in Chennai University, hadn't been nearly as accomplished. I wonder if he'd pick everything else up as quickly, he found himself thinking, and then scolded himself. His own moral standards at this moment were already somewhat hazy- he was not going to force the issue, not just yet. But, oh my, it didn't matter how meek Gabriel was compared to the Sylar he'd known. The arms which were holding him more confidently with each passing second- those arms were strong.

"I don't know, the people around here, they gossip...it might be bad for business." With each gently placed kiss, leading from his shoulder to his ear, a layer of the man Gabriel was began to fall away. He realised that Mohinder had already somehow removed his cardigan and was now setting to work on the buttons of his shirt. Even his glasses now lay on the table beside them- he had no need for them now that the only man that mattered in the world was inches from his face. How had that happened, exactly? And what did it matter? What did he care for this shop, this suffocating, binding shop, when this man was here, laying waste to his senses with each subtle motion of his hand, his lips, his body? He felt his own shoulders begin to relax and became aware that he was having to look up at Mohinder- he was laying down, oh my God, he was actually going to let Mohinder do whatever wanted, he had waited so long and now it was happening all at once, and not with just anyone, but with this dark, luscious man with the cultured accent and the eyes like black marble. Yes, he wanted to say, simply because it was simplest and most accurate thing to say. Yes he wanted this, yes he would plunge his hands into that curly head of hair as deep as they would go and kiss him even deeper, deeper, deeper...

"NO!"

Mohinder froze still, his wrist in the suddenly vice-like grip of Gabriel's hand. His own fingers had travelled, quite naturally, in the direction of his companion's crotch. There had been perhaps a second's contact, enough to establish that Gabriel was more than willing, but that yell had been enough to tell him that he'd gone too far. "I'm sorry," he stammered. "I lost myself for a second." It was only a half truth- he had indeed lost himself in Gabriel's embrace, but he was certainly not sorry. In fact, he was having to fight back a little petulance- why had he let him go so far if he'd not wanted more?

"Nonono, I'm sorry," Gabriel gasped. "I'm just...a little bit scared. I never thought my first time would be on the floor of this shop." He laughed breathlessly. "I never thought there would be a first time!"

Mohinder relaxed a little- it was hard not to. "Come here," he said, standing up again and holding out his hand to help his new friend to his feet. Smiling, they looked at each other with amusement before resuming the kiss with a little less urgency. He kept his eyes open, for Gabriel's sake- ready to break off the kiss and feign indifference as soon as a customer entered the shop. Maybe it would be an idea to move out of eyesight anyway- he didn't have much faith in his own self-control right now. Had anyone came as close to having someone so powerful at his mercy? All it took was the slightest change in grip around his waist, the tiniest nip of teeth on his bottom lip to extract that trembling moan from Gabriel, a moan that reverberated deep within them both and carried him to new heights of arousal. No, he thought- keeping a lookout would not be so simple after all. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes and gave himself up to the kiss entirely once more was the now forgotten watch on the large oak table.

It was sort of magnificent, in its own simple way.

----Thanks for everyone's comments- still a few parts to go!


	4. Chapter 4

Just a little note for you who read part three- something happened with the formatting in that chapter, and none of my beloved "thought-italics" seemed to work. I suppose it might have looked confusing, so it's just to let you know...yeah. Hope it works this time, or I'm going to look veeeeery silly...

* * *

The constant audience of the clocks that surrounded them counted down their time together like Cinderella at the ball- lunchtime became mid-afternoon, mid-afternoon became dusk. Mohinder had resigned himself to the fact that Gabriel was not going to be won over so easily and had chosen instead to revel in his steadily improving kissing technique- he supposed it was part of his talent, after all. A couple of times he whispered something in his ear, something that his knowledge of Received English did not quite extend to. He thought it might have been something to do with "destiny".

It was almost six o'clock when Gabriel broke away from the embrace and peered over Mohinder's shoulder, suddenly alert. "What was that noise?" he whispered. "Is it a customer?"

Mohinder turned around and caught sight of a young man out on the sidewalk. The man looked entirely lost- he was dressed as though for winter in a large woolen overcoat and a thick grey scarf, as if he'd stumbled there from another season, another time. Their eyes met, and there were a few seconds of dumb bemusement before he finally realized whom he was looking at. "Peter!" he exclaimed, horrified. What was he doing here? And why NOW? He turned his attention back to Gabriel, whose hair was comically ruffled from what had gone before. "You can't be seen here," he hissed. "That man works with me, and if he sees you with me I'm in a lot of trouble."

'Trouble?" Gabriel repeated. "Oh, then I don't know if I should go...it's my shop, Mohinder..."

"Yes, yes- but please, go into that room for now," Mohinder said, placing his hand on Gabriel's side and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Nothing will happen to your shop, I promise you. Look, just go, I'll call on you when it's safe!"

His words were met with a flicker of confusion that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Gabriel had already decided that this man was worth doing anything for, no matter how outlandish, so he picked up his blue cardigan from the floor and had disappeared into the back room before Peter Petrelli had entered the shop.

----------------------------

"I'd expected Hiro," Mohinder said mildly after he and Peter had shaken hands. "I always thought that it'd be a harder power for you to master- the time travel, I mean."

"He let me borrow this." Peter held up the Kensei sword cautiously, not as used to its weight as its owner was. "He said I'd probably need it to keep us safe...although I don't think you have much to worry about..." He glanced over Mohinder's shoulder at the door through which Gabriel had disappeared only moments ago.

Mohinder tried to feign innocence for a split second but soon saw that Peter was not about to be fooled. He bowed his head, unable to maintain eye contact. "You saw."

"Hard not to." Peter's stern face softened then, and he placed a friendly hand on Mohinder's shoulder. "Are you completely out of your mind? Do you have ANY idea of the danger you got yourself into when you even just agreed to this?"

"Of course I did." Why do you think I agreed to it in the first place, Peter?

"Then why in the hell have you let yourself fall for the bastard again?" Peter leaned against the table, as casually as if they were having a conversation about the ball game the night before. "I knew, Mohinder. We all knew. You spent more time with Sylar than anyone else. There might have been some kind of attachment formed during that time on the road..."

"First of all, that's not Sylar," Mohinder said stiffly, pointing vaguely in the direction of the back room. "That man couldn't cut a slice of bread, let alone slice the top of someone's head off."

"I don't know. They looked very alike to me. It's easy to grow a stubble and lose the glasses- maybe get some new clothes." Peter fixed him with a peculiar stare. "No doubt you were thinking the same thing."

"Look, why exactly are you here?" Mohinder snapped, almost shouting now. "It's barely a month until the eclipse. Gabriel doesn't look like he's about to go out and find Brian Davis anytime soon. He hasn't even met my father! As long as he doesn't kill him, he doesn't get the telekinesis, and he stays the way he is- a lowly watchmaker. I've done my job, haven't I?"

"That's exactly why I'm here, Mohinder." Peter reached into his black overcoat and withdrew a crumpled sheet of paper. It was innocuous enough, with standard laser-printed text on it. There were a couple of tea stains on it, which if tested would be found to contain chai, laced with curare.

"It...it can't be..." Mohinder was awestruck. His heart picked up speed, and he couldn't explain the emotion that now dominated every part of him- an emotion that could be summed up simply as anticipation. Why would he feel that way about something that had brought him more trouble than it was worth? "You brought me the list? Whatever for?"

"The killings didn't stop," Peter said calmly, the tension in his face belying his true feelings. He took a brief moment to wonder why his old friend was speaking so loudly- it was almost as if he was trying to be heard by a deaf man. It wasn't kind to his sensitive hearing, and he winced without even realising it. "The future remains exactly as you left it. Nothing changed. The man that's behind that door is still the man who kills your father, Mohinder. He's the man that would have killed you. He's the man..."

"He didn't kill me," Mohinder replied, realising how petty it sounded a few seconds too late. "And you can't be right, anyway. Gabriel isn't up to this. He's a shadow of a man, Peter. This place is his life. He can barely look me in the face, and you saw how close we just were." He closed his eyes and wandered away from Peter, towards the door. "It's as if he's a child. You should have heard me when I tried to tell him he was special in the first place- he didn't want to hear it. He's right, really- I don't think he's anything special..."

-----------------------------------------------

Behind the door, Gabriel was biting down on the knuckles of his left hand- hard. It was the only thing he could think of doing to stifle the enormous sob that wanted to emerge, a sob so loud that Mohinder and his friend Peter would probably hear it. He backed away from the door, unable to listen for a second longer. There were too many questions all jostling for attention inside his mind, and he wasn't prepared to acknowledge any of them just yet. The room served as a store cupboard, and he was surrounded by assorted jars of spare pendulums, cogs and springs. He plunged his now bleeding hand into a jar of the latter, changing the duller pain for a cleaner, brighter one. This was not something he was in the habit of doing (it was a bit crazy, and he was pretty sure he wasn't crazy), but it had the desired effect of focussing his mind on what had to be dealt with.

If Gabriel had decided to focus in on a different aspect of what he had just heard, the future might have been altered there and then. He could have wondered why his future self had taken the name of a faulty old watch, for a start. He could have thought about what could have driven him to kill Mohinder's father, a man he'd never met. However, the question that he chose to focus on, as eccentric as it was, sealed the fate of countless people whom he was yet to meet.

He thinks I'm weak. He thinks Sylar is strong. A man named Brian Davis can help me- but how?

The question took hold, and he set his formidable brain to work to figure out a solution. He sifted his hand through the cogs once more, biting his lip at a fresh wave of pain.

The answer came soon, and he realised that all he had to do was wait.

--------------------------------------------------------

"So what am I supposed to do?"

Peter stood up and looked at Mohinder in the way a father will look at an uncommunicative teenage son. Hadn't he explained it well enough already? "You know perfectly what you need to do," he said with strained patience, motioning to the list in his hands. "Find those people. If you don't want to hurt your new friend, find them and tell them to get away from wherever they are. And, who knows." He clapped Mohinder on the back, smiling. "Maybe the next time we meet, we'll both look a lot happier."

"Let's hope," Mohinder said dryly, his eyes focussed on some invisible point in the distance. He'd detached himself from the conversation a while ago- the change occurring within him now was far more worrying than anything Peter wanted him to do, and he was still questioning whether he could go ahead with what he had planned.

Peter looked at him and knew that he'd been dismissed. Sighing, he clutched Hiro's sword and concentrated, hard- moments later he'd left this particular corner of the universe as abruptly as he'd entered it.

Mohinder stood in place for a few minutes until he was satisfied that Peter was well and truly gone, and then hurried over to the door that Gabriel had disappeared through. He was not surprised to see that he was not going to reemerge- after what he'd just said to Peter, he was surprised that he hadn't strode out mid-conversation, eyes blazing and fit for murder without any need for telekinesis. He pressed his ear to the wood and heard no signs of life. Swallowing hard, he spoke. "I'm sorry for what I said out here, Gabriel," he called softly through the door. "And I do like you, I like you very much, but..." Mohinder swallowed the words- as obvious as they were, he didn't think Gabriel needed to hear them, and he certainly didn't need to hear himself say them. "Okay, I'm leaving what you need on the table. You don't have to do it, not if you don't want to, but...Listen, if you need to find me, you'll know where I'll be."

He was certain he heard a small scuffling, and the sound of a container full of small metal components being spilled- then again, the place looked like it was probably riddled with mice. Turning away, he took the Sylar watch from the table and placed it on top of the list to keep it there in case of a draught. With one long last look around him, he left Gray and Sons for the second and last time.

-------------------------------

Back inside, a door opened. A tall man stepped out and stretched the way a man will stretch when confined to a small space for a very long time. His eye caught a couple of interesting objects on the table next to him. He took the watch and slowly buckled it around his left wrist, stained with someone else's blood. Taking the list in his other hand, he found the name and address he needed first, and set to work.

* * *

-I take it that's a "no" on the italics working, then? God, I hate not being able to make my words bendy... Thanks to those who have been reading and reviewing, and I hope you enjoy this part. x 


	5. Chapter 5

Mohinder sat on the bed in his hostel room, eyes wide open. He'd been staring at the door for three hours now- since he'd woken up, at least. It had been weeks since he'd last been anywhere near Gray and Sons, and the second he'd stepped onto the sidewalk that day it had dawned on him that he'd just committed possibly the world's most elaborate suicide. What had he been thinking? Had he missed Sylar so much that he was willing to condemn countless innocents to a gruesome death? The simple answer was, of course, _yes_. Gabriel had been sweet, and handsome, and he could have probably convinced him eventually to go a little further- but the fact remained that Mohinder had not WANTED to wait- not even one day. As soon as he'd laid eyes on him he'd wanted to feel those hands all over him, wanted to be pushed to the floor, wanted to be dominated. He was not normally an irrational man, so feeling that way had always been one of his quiet shames. Peter had been right- it was the same man, with the same face and body. If he squinted hard enough, he could just about see the man he'd strapped to a chair and injected with curare, the man he'd grown so attached to as they'd travelled on the open road. Mohinder couldn't quite pin down the moment when danger had become so attractive to him, but he had an idea it was around the point when he'd been looking down at him from the ceiling of an apartment on the other side of the city. Even as he'd spat out his own blood, he hadn't been able to take his eyes off Sylar, the man who moved like the predator he believed himself to be. Fearsome. Terrible. Magnificent. A natural progression of the species; that's what he'd said. Sylar had indeed killed his father, and he'd hated him for that- but Mohinder knew the kind of loathing that boiled within someone after such a rejection. He had found himself forgiving him right there and then. On the other hand, he'd never quite forgiven Peter for interrupting them that day- to die at the hands of such a man had seemed worth it at the time.

The threat of death, however, did funny things to a man. As a result, he'd been on his guard ever since he'd left the list with Gabriel. Well, that was a moderate understatement. He hadn't left this room since he'd got back that day. Stacked up boxes of Chinese takeout lined the walls- he'd been meaning to take it to the garbage chute for a while but had yet to muster the courage. The smell had been terrible for the first few weeks, but he'd gotten used to it. He sometimes kept an eye on the news on the battered old TV that was mounted to the wall next to the door, and winced internally when the murders started to be reported. As each of the names of the dead were announced, he checked off a new power in his head. _That's Dale gone- he can probably hear me right now._ Any hope he had had of Gabriel winning out over his malignant alter-ego (which, he had to admit, was minimal at best) had gone. And so, he waited for the day which would surely come. He'd prepared for his own death as far as possible- in his smelly and dark hostel prison, he was as good as dead already.

"You have a window too, you know."

Mohinder's heart did a curious thing then- it seemed to simultaneously drop and soar, like a jet plane coming out of a dive at the moment of collision. The voice, calm and slightly derogatory, came from behind him, but he found he couldn't quite turn around. "You made it, then," he said, his throat painful from lack of use.

"You were expecting me?" A low laugh. Its tone reverberated in Mohinder's stomach, and he kept his eyes forward as the owner of the voice walked around the bed and stood before him. "Well, in, that case, I'd like to be acknowledged."

There was a moment of silence before an invisible force took a hold of Mohinder's chin and jerked his head upwards. He found himself looking directly at the man his father had created in another lifetime, the man he'd created in this one. The changes were indeed subtle enough, but to Mohinder they made all the difference- the glasses were gone, he'd grown a five day shadow and his clothes were uniformly black. His short hair (also black) was fashionably tousled. There was a broad smile on his face, a smile which in the poor light of the hostel room looked closer to a snarl. He looked like the world's happiest funeral mourner. In a way, Mohinder supposed he was.

"So quiet!" Sylar laughed, and "let go" of Mohinder's face. "I'll be honest, Mohinder- I'm surprised. And a little disappointed." He crouched down so the two of them were on the same level, eye to eye. "The last time I was with you, it was all I could do to shut out your voice."

"You had to change," Mohinder whispered tremulously. Was he actually trying to defend his actions to this man? He supposed so. "You would have festered away inside that shop. It was unfair. Someone had to free you. Last time around, it was my father." A thought occurred to him then, something that had somehow seemed unimportant recently but now suddenly mattered a great deal. "My father...have you..."

"Don't be stupid, Mohinder. It doesn't suit you well." Sylar shook his head with lazy regret. "I had no reason to kill Chandra this time around. He visited me at the shop the day after you and your friend disappeared. I told him that Gabriel had gone on a last-minute vacation. He left."

Mohinder looked at Sylar, not bothering to even try and regulate his heartbeat anymore. He couldn't quite believe what he was hearing- it didn't make any real sense to him, given past knowledge of what this man was capable of. "You spared him?"

"It's not a question of sparing, Mohinder. It's a question of necessity." Sylar stood up again- from where Mohinder was, he seemed to fill the room. "Your father wasn't necessary."

"And I suppose I am."

"Excuse me?"

Mohinder swallowed hard and looked into Sylar's face, trying to read what he found there. It was impossible to gauge what was going on in that head- his eyes were impossibly dark, and his expression showed nothing more than mild interest. "I assume you're going to kill me."

Sylar appeared to think it over for a second, biting on his bottom lip. "Hmm, probably," he replied, as if he'd just been asked if he was going to take the train instead of the bus. "That seems to be a recurring theme for me these days. But I'm not sure what could possibly make you think you were..." Here he gave a slow, derogatory laugh. "...necessary."

"Well." Mohinder gained a small amount of bravado, which he immediately regretted after he'd spoken. "You're here, aren't you?"

Sylar ignored the question, suddenly wrinkling his noise in disgust. "What have you been DOING in here? It smells like China turned sour and someone forgot to clean it up." He raised a hand behind him and gave his fingers a minute flick. Half-filled takeout boxes hovered, flying past Mohinder and out of the window. A few seconds later there was disgruntled swearing from the street outside as some unfortunate passer-by found themselves covered in mouldy chow mein. "I don't like the thought of you living in this filth, Mohinder. I'd feel so bad if the reason for this was that you'd been waiting on insignificant old me."

Mohinder could barely stand this. The two of them were mere inches from each other- their knees were almost touching. He was thinking of all the deaths he'd heard of- people skewered to walls with cutlery, frozen solid, crushed under flying furniture. Death was becoming less appealing as he thought of these murders- how long would something like being skewered to a wall take to kill you? This thought was enough to get him moving. He stood up, the top of his head barely level with Sylar's nose. "Whatever you're here to do, just do it," he spat.

"If you insist."

Mohinder was flung backwards with such ferocity that even the softness of the bed below him did not fully cushion the landing. It seemed that one second he was looking at Sylar's eternally curious face, and the next he was staring at the naked lightbulb in the ceiling. He felt the mattress beneath him shift and creak, and realised with mingled horror and confusion that Sylar had knelt on the bed, and was now crawling towards him. Slow, so slow. Was that how he was going to die? He thought of his father, Dr. Chandra Suresh. What was he doing now that he'd been discouraged from associating with a murderer? Had he given up on his research and returned to India? He thought of his mother, kind and wise and patient. Would they be the ones to say farewell to him on the shores of the Ganges- or would they even know he'd died? When Sylar was finished with him would anything be left of him to find?

"You're scared," Sylar said, reflectively.

"Don't tell me," Mohinder said. "You can hear my heartbeat."

"There's that, yes. But mostly this." He extended one index finger and Mohinder's throat closed in fear. Here it was, after all- a quicker death than he'd expected, quicker than he surely deserved. However, no pain came, no blood. Instead, Sylar placed one fingertip on the fullest part of his cheekbone, smearing wetness from there down to his jawline. "There's no reason to cry over this, you know. Before I do anything, I only want to know a few things."

"Anything," Mohinder gasped, hating how his voice sounded. Sylar's fingertip had left a quietly smouldering trail behind it. That was the problem with the man- he could never be sure whether his own mind was playing tricks on him, or if he'd been using another of his newfound powers.

"Why did you leave me that list?" It was Sylar's turn to sound peculiar now. His voice had crept up in tone a little, and his eyes had grown wide, intense. He was kneeling over Mohinder, hand hovering in mid air- in his effort to keep him locked to the bed, it was quivering lightly, almost as if he was trying to restrain himself from physically touching his face again. "You knew I was going to hurt those people. Why did you say those things about me? I thought that you liked..." He blinked then, hard, and glanced away. "Just tell me."

Mohinder lay still- that was, he made no attempt to struggle against the unseen bonds that held him in place. "I was a fool," he said simply. "That's why. I was selfish, and I was a fool. I missed someone I hadn't seen in a very long time indeed, and I thought I could bring him back. I realised that I couldn't do that without getting a lot of people hurt." He felt himself begin to cry again, and hoped that Sylar would ignore it. "I had very little time to make a decision, and I made the worst one I could. I tried to make you hate the life you had, and the person you were...and I suppose it worked, or else you wouldn't be here." He inhaled deeply, able to taste clean air for the first time in weeks. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Sylar looked back at him then, looking more composed. Apparently coming to some kind of private decision, he shifted closer to Mohinder. Placing two hands on either side of his shoulders, he looked into his eyes, hard. "In a short while, I'm going to let you go," he whispered. "And I'm going to give you a choice about what to do. You can either run for the door, you can try and fight me- or you can stay where you are." He lowered his face so that their foreheads were pressed into each other. "I'm not the man you think I am, Mohinder. I'm not all that different from the man you said was nothing special."

As Mohinder felt his invisible bonds coming loose, he lay still. He saw something in Sylar's eyes that he'd missed all that time ago. Of course, they'd never been as close as this- or perhaps he simply hadn't felt the same way the last time. He felt a hand rest on the small piece of flesh exposed by where his shirt had ridden up his hip, and he knew then what he was going to do. "I was wrong about that man," he said with conviction. They lay that way for some time, as if they were silently reacquainting themselves- Sylar blinked once, and his long eyelashes tickled Mohinder's cheek.

Whatever resolve they'd had until then broke in unison. They collided ungracefully with each other- Mohinder hooking his arms around Sylar's neck and pulling himself upwards, Sylar straddling Mohinder and pinning him down with his lips in one swift movement. The kiss was fierce and unyielding, more about the battle for dominance than any real affection between the two of them. Their tongues fought with each other relentlessly as they both scrambled for each other, hands everywhere at once. Mohinder, having lost his essential fear of the man and being left only with lust, bit down heavily on his full bottom lip, earning a low and angry moan and nails digging sharply into the flesh on his shoulders. The pain was bright and vivid, and would leave angry crescent-shaped weals for a week to come. It was the pain that Mohinder craved, needed, longed for. He half-smiled, half-laughed, a high, crazy sound in the silence of the hostel room.

Sylar picked up on the change in his heartbeat immediately. Smirking, he plunged his hands deep into Mohinder's thick curly and yanked his head backwards. "I forgot you liked your men brutal," he growled almost bitterly, and then Mohinder was flying across the room again, slamming face first into a wall and sending the television crashing to the floor in a heap of static. He hurt badly, and he believed he'd just heard the shallow, chicken-bone snap of a rib- yet it was nowhere near close to being enough. As he heard Sylar advance again with uncharacteristic urgency, he realised he had never been more ready for what he knew about to happen, never more ready in his whole life. Impatient hands slid up the front of his loose shirt, tracing nonsensical lines there. He felt Sylar press his body into his back, pinning him there with no need for such luxuries as telekinesis. The sensation was suffocating, more so with the injury to Mohinder's chest, but it didn't matter because those fingertips were now descending to the zip of his jeans. When his hand reached the area he'd wanted so badly for Gabriel to let him touch, his sight became hazy. He wanted him so badly that he thought his mind would break from the yearning.

"I've never done this before," Sylar whispered into his ear, sarcasm dripping. "But I guess you knew that already." His fingers wrapped slowly around Mohinder and with the first steady massage he felt his knees begin to give way. Looping his other arm around Mohinder's stomach, Sylar held him upright and steady as he spread gentle kisses up and down the nape of his neck, keeping the rhythm steady all the while. "It's all about instinct, I suppose. Knowing how things work might help, too. But then, I might be taking too much for granted- I _am_ doing it right, aren't I, Mohinder?"

Mohinder could not reply in the affirmative. He'd lost the power of coherent speech long ago, and could only let himself drown in the man that surrounded him now. He felt as though with each trembling breath, he was swimming in Sylar's cold, clean scent, and he had only just noticed that his jeans had been pulled down around his ankles. He could only muster up one simple sentence in English, and even then he could barely complete it. "I...want you to..."

"You know," Sylar whispered, just as the sound of a second zip being opened filled Mohinder's heart with combined dread and longing. "Gabriel wanted this from you, too. He was too scared to let you give it to him, and too inexperienced to give it to you- but he wanted it, all the same." There was a silence then as he got himself in position- Mohinder knew the pain it would bring would be as bad as anything he'd ever experienced, but it was a pain he longed for now, a pain he could not be denied at risk of what was left of his sanity. "And do you know something else?" He leaned close to Mohinder's ear, bringing back the one memory

(_and it's going to HURT_)

that might never leave him. "I think he still wants it."

The scream that Sylar dragged from him was far louder than he wanted it to be, but he couldn't help it- the penetration was not cruel, but neither was it reserved. He had never known pain quite like this, not ever. He fumbled wildly behind him in mid air and caught Sylar's hand, gripping it hard enough to break bone. Fingers entwined around his, and they stayed that way as each thrust jabbed him into the chipped paintwork of the wall, scratching his face and bruising his already injured chest. There were real tears now- unashamed, unbridled tears that came in regulated and shuddering sobs. He was being torn open, ripped apart, restructured, and he thought stupidly that he might die sooner or later. But, oh dear _God_, he didn't want Sylar to stop. He felt the man's lips still on his ear, breathing incoherent words there, so gentle in comparison to what what happening down below. Unrelenting hips snapped into him again and again, in time with Sylar's steady massaging inside the front of Mohinder's underwear. He felt the man behind him begin to tremble just as he felt his own peak arrive, and when it did it arrived with such ferocity as he'd never known, setting him writhing against the wall. He didn't scream, exactly, but he let out a wavering little yell that wanted to be Sylar's name but hadn't the structure. Behind him, he felt a head rest against his shoulder and release a long, sighing moan, and he knew it was over.

"I'm sorry," Sylar whispered after a time. "I lost myself."

"Quite alright," Mohinder mouthed, his voice well below a whisper but knowing he'd be heard all the same. He felt empty now that Sylar had left him, but it was a reassuring emptiness. He felt cleansed, refreshed- newly comfortable. In fact, he hadn't felt so good in years. It occurred to him that, in a slightly different manner, he'd lost himself too. Not that it mattered- he got the feeling he wouldn't miss himself much, anyway.

* * *

I am so bothered by lack of adequate text formatting that I may choke a bitch. I NEED MAH ITALICS.


End file.
